


Something In The Way They Fall

by ArtsyAfrodite



Category: Shameless US - Fandom
Genre: Future Fic, Gallavich, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:13:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyAfrodite/pseuds/ArtsyAfrodite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian and Mickey have been together for ten years, but everything still feels like yesterday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something In The Way They Fall

It was Fall when it happened and the rest is history. 

The sunlight was fussy this morning, thin arms of light fighting through blinds that were closed.  Ian narrowed his eyes at the man sleeping soundly next to him, lightly snoring and un-fazed by the abuse of dawn.  He studied his pale skin, and wondered if it had shed at one point like Autumn leaves falling off trees, in the form of leaving the dirt and shit behind in a world that seemed almost like a dream.  Chicago’s south side.  The place that resembled a home where he was raised. 

He rubbed the sleep out of his green eyes as the man next to him began to stir.  As Mickey opened his slumber-pulled eyes, flashes of blue sparkled in the streaming light, and Ian thought he could never get tired of those eyes.  He slid his arm around Mickey’s waist, pulling him closer as a lazy smile tugged at the corners of the older man’s mouth.

“Mornin’ sleepy head,” Ian greeted.

“Mornin’, Mickey responded, voice still scratchy from the remnants of sleep.

“What day is it?”  Mickey’s smile widened from Ian’s question, the corners of his eyes slightly crinkling the way Ian loved.  He began tracing the trails of freckles on Ian’s arm that was wrapped around his waist with the pads of his fingers, the faint outline of his once signature knuckle tattoo, long removed, becoming more prominent in the growing sunlight.  He studied Ian’s face; his green eyes, slightly crooked smile, the stubble along his jaw line and suddenly he saw the boy he used to be so afraid of, now the man he wanted just like this at all times, wrapped in sheets and limbs, and silent affections. 

“You tell me.”

 

_“Please…just…at least look at me would you?”_

_The familiarity of the words stung in his mouth, the burning sensation traveling down his throat, more than likely damaging.  It hurt how similar his own words were to the ones once shouted at him.  He closed his eyes at the memory, “Would you at least look at me?” echoing off cement walls, a gun in his hand.  He resisted the urge to vomit, his stomach at war with words spat out, then swallowed over and over.  Mickey didn’t know what he was doing, the impulse to just ‘go’ so sudden and too painful to ignore.  He just didn’t know.  He was so – confused.  Yet he was so certain._

_Ian slowly turned and finally stared at Mickey.  Just stared.  His eyes pierced through him like rusted nails, because a sharp knife would be too easy, too quick, unlike rusted nails that would rip and tear through the flesh, an infection imminent.  It was Fall, and the leaves that fell around them was so fitting of a scene – things dying, shedding._

_“What the fuck are you doing here Mickey?”  Ian’s voice was low, venomous.  Mickey shuddered because he had never heard his voice like this._

_“I just – “  Mickey cut himself off.  What was he supposed to say?  That he just suddenly got the urge to leave the south side, packed a bag full of almost nothing, and made his way to West Point?  To what?  Profess whatever it was he was feeling for the redhead?  He could see Ian’s growing anger and impatience.  Mickey figured he deserved the treatment.  “Fuck,” he cursed to himself, swiping his thumb across his bottom lip.  Ian shook his head and slightly chuckled at the sight._

_“Always the fucking same.  You can’t say it, can you?”  Mickey felt himself grow angry from those words._

_“Fuck you Gallagher!  You think it’s so easy don’t you?”  Mickey was shouting now, not caring about the students and teachers walking by, staring at them.  “I came all this way didn’t I?  Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”_

_“No,” Ian started as he walked up to Mickey, placing them a foot away from each other.  “But it probably does to your wife.”  Something popped inside Mickey, like someone turning the handle of a Jack-in-the-box until the ridiculous thing comes flying out in that stupid clown suit, arms flailing wildly, and before he knew it, he had Ian by the collar of his shirt, pushing him against the nearest wall, eyes full of rage.  He balled a handful of Ian’s shirt in his fist, looking as if he was about to strike, but he spoke instead._

_“Now you listen and you listen good because I’m only gonna say this shit once.”  Mickey’s grip on Ian’s shirt tightened as Ian’s eyes widened.  “Fuck Svetlana, fuck Terry, fuck everything that happened because it was never about that.  It’s about you and me.  Always has been.  You’re just as fucked up from a shitty upbringing as me so you use my stupid, forced marriage as a crutch because at the end of the day, you’re just as scared as I am.”  Ian’s face dropped.  He had never heard Mickey say so much at once, that actually meant something.  One hit with the hammer and his words nailed shut the coffin that held everything Ian ever thought about their situation.  He lowered his eyes, his voice was shaky._

_“Scared of what Mickey?”  And in that moment, the older boy thought “fuck it.”_

_“Love,” Mickey started in almost a whisper.  His ears rang and his heart was about to beat out of his chest he was so nervous, but it was now or never.  “And just…I…I don’t know.  Of being loved I guess.”  Mickey’s voice gained more confidence, his voice becoming more audible as he spoke, but his eyes were fixed on his fist full of Ian’s shirt.  He felt the younger boy’s breathing quicken and he could practically hear his heart fighting to burst out his chest._

_“M-Mick, I –“ Mickey cut Ian off before he could finish._

_“Just listen.  I,” Mickey started, his breathing labored.  He closed his eyes.  “I love you Ian.”  Mickey’s grip loosened on Ian’s shirt, but he still didn’t look at Ian.  He couldn’t.   He was about to let go, but before he could back away, he felt Ian’s hand underneath his chin, slowly lifting his face so he could look at him.  But Mickey didn’t have the guts so he closed his eyes.  He was such a pussy._

_“Look at me Mick,” Ian said in a voice that contained something Mickey had never heard before.  He finally gave in and opened his eyes.  Ian’s eyes were wide, tears pooling in the corners, about to spill out.  “About time.  I love you too.”_

_And Mickey doesn’t remember who made the first move, but his grip re-tightened in Ian’s shirt, and they kissed like never before, a new passion behind it, and they didn’t care who saw.  Mickey became Ian’s and Ian became Mickey’s, officially, and all fear dissipated in the autumn air.  When they finally broke apart, Ian looked down at his now boyfriend, smile lazy._

_“You called me Ian.”_

_“I did, but don’t get fucking used to it Gallagher.”  The older boy smiled and pulled the redhead back into him, because he wanted to kiss him like this and for it not to end.  Mickey doesn’t remember when he started crying, but he does remember the leaves and the way they fell._

 

“Happy ten year anniversary,” Ian said as he smiled.

“I can’t believe I put up with your ass for ten years,” Mickey joked.  Ian frowned while still smiling and poked him in his side with his index finger.  Battle won.

“It feels like just yesterday when you came to West Point, all crazy looking.”  Ian began to laugh at the memory.  Sometimes he still can’t believe Mickey actually did what he did back then.  “I still can’t believe you did that.”  Mickey laughed then looked into Ian’s eyes, greener now, and deeper.  His eyes had a guise that only came with time and the up-downs it brought.  He moved his hand to Ian’s.

“Best decision I ever made.”

Ten years.  A decade, and the memory played like an old fashioned gramophone – fitting, because the tune carried from a moment that seemed ancient.  Mickey breathed deeply from the reminiscence, the smell of the crisp autumn air still fresh in his nostrils.  It was the leaves he saw the most; multicolored, bright, and too beautiful to be dead.  Because it’s always the leaves, and something in the way they fall that says old things are shed, simply to make room for the new.

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea to write a one shot that was centered around the Fall season (my favorite season), but the ideas kept coming. I always wanted to write a fic about Ian and Mickey years and years later, as well as Mickey being a writer, so I took this opportunity to make it happen! I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter. It was more like an intro into the rest of the story, which will get more detailed. This will not be like the usual painful stuff I tend to write, but it will be weaved in here and there. They're adults, so it will be more mature, and slightly sophisticated (somewhat lol). I'm kind of in love with this story. It isn't even fully written, but I can tell. :)
> 
> UPDATE: I have decided to keep this story as a one shot. I have no more steam/ideas for it, as I'm focusing mainly on my other two multi-chapters.


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